


Hands on Fire

by ilokheimsins



Series: Inceptiversary 2017 Bingo [4]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Anniversary, Arthur looks like jailbait without hair gel, Dreamhusbands, Erotic Massage, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, eames basically speaks in innuendo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 00:30:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11520732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilokheimsins/pseuds/ilokheimsins
Summary: Arthur's attempt at doing something sexy for their anniversary is hot as fire, literally.





	Hands on Fire

**Author's Note:**

> (4 of 25) of Inceptiversary 2017 Bingo.

“I want to ask how,” Cobb says, weary in his resignation, “but I think I know how.  And I don’t want to know why I’m your emergency contact.”

He pointedly eyes Eames’ lack of clothing, apart from a pair of very tight black briefs, and the way he’s glowing in the light of the fire.  He turns his disapproving gaze onto Arthur, whose hands are drenched in the same oil that’s currently making Eames look like a very bronzed if hairy god and making more than one passerby stop to ogle him.

“In my defense,” Arthur says, “I didn’t know massage oil was flammable”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Cobb marvels, shock all over his face.  He’s not even squinting, eyes wide open to convey just how much shock he’s in.

“Shut up,” Arthur snaps back.

“Darling, in Cobb’s defense, it is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say, too,” Eames says, reaching out a hand to pat Arthur’s bicep placatingly.

Arthur’s glare at him could level mountains.

“It’s oil,” Cobb interjects, waving his hand at the fire that’s still going, “of course it’s fucking flammable!”

“Cobb, you are not helping,” Eames says as Arthur stomps away to talk to one of the firefighters that’s keeping the scene clear.

“It’s oil,” Cobb repeats.

“I don’t understand why you’re not angrier about this,” he says after a beat of staring at Eames.

“I am,” Eames says placidly.  “I’m quite miffed, in fact, that I’ve got to stand around like this while they try to put out my house.”

“Like what?” Cobb asks, and immediately regrets it when Eames points very obviously to the erection that’s been masked by the spacial illusion brought on by black underwear on a dark night until now.  Someone in the gathering crowd says “oh my god” like they’re swooning and Cobb feels the urge to step in front of Eames like he’s offending the finer sensibilities of the people at hand.

Arthur stomps back over at that moment and grinds out, “They won’t talk to me about details because I need to find an adult.”

Eames and Cobb both take a second to look at Arthur, who has his hair in its natural state, which means it’s flopping over his face and making him look all of fifteen.  The picture isn’t helped by the fact that he’s wearing one of Eames’ shirts, which is huge on him and hangs down to his thighs.  He’s only got briefs underneath that aren’t visible at all under the shirt, all of which serves to make him look like the kept boy of someone rich and powerful.

A smirk starts to spread across Eames’ face and Arthur snarls out, “Don’t say a fucking thing.”

Eames is about to reply when one of the firefighters comes over.

“So, we need to understand the cause of the fire,” she says.  “We’ll probably be able to figure it out later but it’s always nice if people just tell us.  It makes life easier.”

“Arthur, my darling kitten,” Eames begins loftily, which certainly doesn’t help the impression that Arthur is being kept as a beloved pet, if the look on the firefighter’s face is anything to go by.  He makes it worse by levering Arthur to his side, tucking him under his arm, which causes Arthur to make a disgusted face.

The firefighter’s face hardens and she says, “If he’s doing anything you don’t want—”

“It’s fine,” Arthur says, “he’s just getting oil all over this shirt.”

“As I was saying,” Eames butts in, delight all over his face, “As the _adult_ here, I’m regaling you with what occurred on this fateful night.

“I’m going to kill you,” Arthur says mildly and plucks Eames’ arm off.

“Darling, I’m merely complying with their request for an adult,” Eames says gleefully.  “As I was saying, my petal—”

“Unapproved nickname,” Arthur cuts in.

Eames continues uninhibited, “Arthur thought an erotic massage would be just the thing to celebrate our anniversary.  It’s actually next week, you see, but his job has him travelling to far flung and very exotic places to wear very nice suits and eat delicious fruits and possibly do something related to corporations.”

“I’m a corporate consultant,” Arthur sighs.

The firefighter is slowly graduating from suspicious to amused and the look she shoots Arthur is at the very least hiding laughter on the inside.

“So we decided to celebrate our anniversary beforehand,” Eames says grandly.  “Arthur’s idea, really, he’s such a romantic, you must understand.  He bought all these lovely candles, scented like—what was it again?  Ah, yes, Chris Evans in front of a fireplace in a wood lodge on a snowy mountain.  Very sexy.”

The firefighter’s eyebrows are slowly inching upward and it’s very clear she’s never encountered someone of Eames’ species before.  Cobb, for his part, just looks resigned to the inevitability of Eames’ speechifying and sits down on the bench they’re standing next to.

“And then he brought in oil and it was a luscious massage,” Eames says approvingly, mouth rounding almost obscenely around the word luscious and someone else in the crowd almost swoons.  “Arthur has very good hands, you know, and they’re very good at massaging.”

His voice has steadily been lowering into the rasp that Arthur recognizes as his aroused tone and when he looks up at Arthur and says, “They squeeze just right,” Arthur has to clear his throat and look elsewhere for a moment.

Eames’ face clears up from the predatory look it was falling towards and he turns back to the firefighter to jovially tell her, “And then Arthur accidentally knocked over the oil onto four of the candles at once and here we are.”

“…Yeah, okay,” she says.  “I just need you to come down to the station and sign a couple of forms and then you can call your insurance to get this processed.”

“Ah, very good,” Eames says.  “Arthur, pet?”

Arthur rolls his eyes but follows Eames as he traipses towards the firetruck.  Eames presses in close, arm brushing Arthur’s as the walk.

“Next time, I think I’ll take control of the oil, hm?”

 


End file.
